Cast Out at Nineteen, Welcomed Home Twenty Years Later: The Journey of General Morgan and the Power of Forgiveness

It was December. My mother’s voice trembled through the line: “Your father isn’t well. We’d like to visit.”

My heart tightened. Two decades had passed since that night. “We won’t stay long,” she added. “Your brother will drive.”

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the word family on a notepad. I crossed it out, wrote it again, circled it. Emily asked, “Do you want them here?”

“I want a beginning,” I said. “We can decide the ending later.”

When their SUV pulled up, the morning light was pale and cold. My mother stepped out, wrapped in a scarf from another life. My brother, Mark, looked uneasy. And my father—smaller now, slower—stood at the gate.

He cleared his throat. “General,” he said stiffly.

“Thank you for coming,” I answered.

The Room of Witnesses

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